


A Touch of the Sun

by spycandy



Category: Being Human
Genre: Gen, Post Season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-22
Updated: 2011-06-22
Packaged: 2017-10-20 15:49:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/214393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spycandy/pseuds/spycandy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bright sunny days are no fun for vampires</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Touch of the Sun

By the time he reached the front door, Mitchell's head was throbbing and his vision blurred. He fumbled at the lock, squinting as the bright glare of sun was reflected by the metal key. Finally the door swung open and he stumbled into the dimly-lit sanctuary of the living room.

The room was sweltering and airless, but at least the blinds were down. Mitchell sank onto the sofa, limp with relief at being indoors at last.

It had been all very well to remove his hat and sunglasses to defy the weak February sunlight, even on a bright day. But in mid-June, when the BBC weather forecasters were warning of high UV levels and pale-skinned humans were walking around coated in factor 25, it was a tough week to be a vampire.

Of course it was a good season for the werewolves – the shorter hours of darkness were taking less of a physical monthly toll. George had a spring in his step and, although she was far from used to the horrible experience of full moon, Nina seemed increasingly comfortable in the company of her boyfriend's supernatural housemates.

He could hear their cheerful squabbling and laughter echoing through the kitchen from the backyard. Annie's voice too – calling out a question he couldn't quite make out.

“...that the door? Mitchell, is that you?”

He croaked a feeble reply from the sofa, which made Annie transport herself instantly from the back door to his side. Cool fingers brushed the hair from his hot forehead.

“Oh!” exclaimed Annie. “You're burning hot.”

Mitchell mumbled a response, unable to make it particularly intelligible.

“Wait there.” Annie disappeared, the delicious chill of her fingers vanishing with her. There was the sound of a running tap and a few moments later he was being coaxed to sit upright, a cool glass of water pressed into his hand.

He glugged it down and felt slightly less woozy, managing for the first time to focus on Annie, who was giving him a very worried look in return.

“You look terrible Mitchell. Your neck's bright red,” she scolded. “Did you go sunbathing or something?”

“I lost my hat. It really hurts.” It sounded like a pitiful whine, even to his own ears.

“I'll get the aftersun.”

Annie's icy fingers and the cool moisture on his raw neck were a blissful combination and by the time Annie had slathered the lotion over his ears he felt able to raise a small smile of thanks.

“I think I'll just stay in here for a while,” he said, settling back on the sofa as Annie clicked the lid back onto the bottle and gave him another appraising look.

“Okay, we'll all be out the back. You want the TV on?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And some more water?”

“Can I have a beer?” he pleaded pathetically.

“Finish that glass of water and I'll consider it.”

Then he was alone, with the water and the TV, which was showing tennis. It was clearly just as sunny in south west London as it was in Bristol and the sight of people jumping around the bright green screen with so much energy and enthusiasm made Mitchell feel even more queasy than before. But the remote was out of reach and he couldn't muster the strength to get up to change channels.

Beyond the TV, the sound of his housemates enjoying the sunshine grated on his nerves.

“Pass me that...”

“Second serve.”

“Are you sure it goes that way up?”

“Thirty, Love.”

The sounds of the afternoon gradually merged with his throbbing headache. The commentators only made matters worse by discussing the marvellous weather forecast for the rest of the week at great length in between games. Mitchell closed his eyes and wished he could just sleep until sunset. Every time he began to drowse off, he would shift position, trying to find a comfortable way to lie down and the blistered and peeling skin on the back of his neck would brush against the chair, jarring him back to full awareness of the wretched endless fourth set.

Annie hadn't come back inside to check on him or allow him that bottle of beer – nor had Nina made any effort to use her nursing skills to alleviate his pain. And after all the times he'd helped out after transformations, George had showed no interest at all in his sick housemate. Well fine, a touch of sunburn wasn't quite multiple organ failure, but it could be, rather famously, fatal to vampires.

He knew that he was being unreasonable – he hadn't exactly forgotten what his friends had been willing to sacrifice to save him only months earlier. But he felt horrible – and frankly he'd have expected a little bit more sympathy. Maybe they planned to spend the whole summer enjoying the glorious outdoors while he cowered alone in the shadows?

“Hey.” The soft voice was right by Mitchell's ear and he opened his eyes to find Annie studying his neck once again. She seemed satisfied with what she saw.

“That's looking better,” she said, and he realised that, while he'd been busy feeling sorry for himself, his sunburn was no longer so painful and his headache had faded into the background – being a vampire certainly had its benefits for quick healing. “Do you feel up to walking to the back door? George wants to consult you about something.”

“Can't he come inside then?” groused Mitchell.

“It's, er... it's about something outside.”

That sounded unlikely – there wasn't much outside besides a washing line and a battered old barbecue, although apparently they'd found something out there to occupy them all afternoon. But he followed Annie through the kitchen, rolling the stiffness out of his not-quite-as-sore-as-before shoulders as he went.

“Ta-da!” shouted three voices as he arrived at the door.

The drab back yard had been transformed. A cluster of new terracotta plant pots contained a collection of kitchen herbs, whose scents vied with the smoke from the barbecue. Where once Annie had burned the sad souvenirs of her life with Owen, George looked up from constructing skewers of chicken and peppers and grinned at him.

Most of the rest of the small outside space belonging to the house was taken up by a new wooden picnic table and four chairs. Thanks to a large dark green parasol, one of the chairs was carefully positioned in a deep pool of shade.

“It's the highest UV grade sunshade they do,” said Annie, who was bouncing on her toes, watching for his reaction. “George sent off for it.”

Lost for words, Mitchell grabbed Annie into a tight hug, mumbling his gratitude into her shoulder. When he let go he returned George's grin.

A single stride carried him through a patch of sunlight to his chair and he took his seat in grand style, as if it was a golden throne rather than rickety self-assembly furniture. Once he was seated, Nina bowed ceremoniously and presented him with a cold, moisture-speckled beer from the picnic box underneath the table.

“It's... wow! It's perfect,” he said. “Thanks.”

A light breeze wafted over his neck as he sipped the beer. Suddenly the prospect of a long, hot summer didn't seem quite so bad after all.


End file.
